


Timothy

by wisia



Series: Timothy [1]
Category: DCU
Genre: Dubious Consent, Identity Issues, M/M, Mind Control, Non-Consensual, Sexual Content, mature - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-17 15:39:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisia/pseuds/wisia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ra’s plays with Timothy, not Tim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Timothy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cornflakepizza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornflakepizza/gifts).



“Do you know what you are? Hm?” And Ra’s strokes his hair, strokes slow, strokes with love. Timothy is captivated.

“Yes,” Timothy answers. Answers smoothly, answers confidently, answers with something akin to love because he is captivated. “Yours.”

And Ra’s smiles. Knows. That Timothy is captivated to the point he isn’t “Tim” but Timothy. Timothy. Four more letters that isn’t dragged out of Tim but added. Extended. Filled. Gave Timothy meaning with those four extra.

Because Tim, oh, those sad three letters were—blood, lies, tears, secrets and broken dreams—his as their Tim.

But Timothy, yes, Timothy with four more was Ra’s’. Made him full, whole and fine. Made it better.

So Timothy, not Tim, answers, “yes. Yours.” Because Timothy was always Ra’s’ and Tim wasn’t. Tim would leave, would run, would not be in the company of a man like Ra’s. Tim would be a good boy in that he never strayed.

Timothy would stay, caress and play. He wasn’t a bad child, but he needed more than Tim did. Needed so much more that he couldn’t be satisfied to swallow down the bitterness, the pains and trials like Tim did.

“Yes, mine, Timothy. Always mine,” Ra’s’ says.

And Timothy smiles, leans into the hand that strokes. Because being Timothy was much better than being Tim.


	2. Disconnect

“Timothy,” and Tim feels a shiver, a current running through his body in a low hum, warm and spreading. It feels familiar, but he squashes it down. Because somehow Ra’s was piggybacking on one of his lines, his voice a wonderful purr in his ear. The communicator made it seem as if Ra’s was right there. In his presence. Speaking directly to his ear. Tim could almost feel the phantom breath tickling his ear, and his heart sped up a beat involuntarily.

“What do you want?” Tim says and says roughly because Ra’s’ voice shouldn’t be so wonderful. Shouldn’t be charging that strange current in his body that’s almost like a response to Ra’s. Shouldn’t be pulling up images that were so heated it didn’t seem as if they were mere visions at all.

“I merely wish to congratulate you on your success,” Ra’s purrs. And Tim bites the bottom of his lip, bites it hard. Because Ra’s’ voice was that wonderful, sending tingles through his body.

“My success?” Tim asks and it was so hard, so difficult to keep his voice steady. Even for just three syllables.

“Yesss,” Ra’s answers, dragging out the ‘s’. Tim feels the groan in his throat, clenches his jaw to keep the sound inside. “Your success in closing down that drug ring. You are brilliant, Timothy.”

And Tim raises a shaky finger to his communicator. Because his name, his full name on Ra’s’ tongue shouldn’t sound so good or right. And he trembles and shivers and quakes to find himself aroused. That he can so easily picture what if.

Ra’s’ hand in his hair, stroking. The touches that run across scars so gently and…

Tim disconnects the line. He is disappointed that he did.


	3. Tip of the Tongue

“It is cold, detective. You should come closer.”

And Tim looks straight ahead. At the sweep of sands, the moonlight paring each grain to white, and at the night settling a shroud over the landscape. Wonders how he is stranded in seas of sand with Ra’s for company.

Then he shivers. Feels his teeth chatter from cold, but Tim keeps still, rigid and unyielding in his stance. He suppresses the tremors, pretends the wind isn’t nipping at his cheeks, dipping with invisible hands through his kelvar. And Ra’s speaks. In a tone different and lower than his norm. “The desert is unforgiving at night.”

Ra's' voice sounds so warm, so unbearably tantalizing. A register that promise and holds and is just right.

“Timothy…”

Tim shivers again, but this time it wasn’t from the biting chill or the unforgiving breezes of desert wind. There’s a throb in his heart, starting and turning. Wheels turn and gears tick, clicking, clicking, clicking. Because there is something to the way Ra’s says his name. There’s something to how his name comes from those thin lips and it’s there. On the tip of his tongue, at attention and waiting for command. His body thrums and drums and hums, skin shifting in anticipation.

He should know, Tim thinks. Thinks he should know but he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why his name sound so good, so precious on Ra’s’ glided tongue. Doesn’t know why his heart throbs and hurts and pains. Tim can’t comprehend why there should be meaning, so much more meaning in his name, his full name, when it is spoken by Ra’s. Why is it that when Ra’s calls him so, it is only Ra’s who can.

Tim turns his head but it is a mistake. Because Ra’s is there, hand cupping his face and those eyes stare into his. Deeply. Intimately. And he wants to move away, close his eyes but the beating in his heart beats faster, fluttering and flitting, and there is that thing, that thing on the tip of his tongue that he still doesn’t know but should know.

“Do you know what you are?” Ra’s asks.

And unaware, unconsciously, Tim slips. Slips and folds and bends to be hidden like paper tucked between the pages of a book. It is like sleeping, falling into sleep with only the minimal sensory awareness.

“Yes,” Timothy whispers, the word that waited on the tip of the tongue. “Yours.”

And it is Timothy who falls into Ra’s’ embrace. Timothy who finds desert chills chased away by skilled fingers. Timothy who lies sprawled across the sand, the tiny grains clinging to his skin and whose moans and cries break across the dunes destroying mirages and creating an oasis with his every breath.

\------

Tim wakes, huddled and cold and stiff. He pulls his arms to stretch them, after a night of sitting. He isn’t as cold as he was before, and Tim wonders when he fell asleep. The sun is making its trek upward to light the desert to scorching, marking the few hours he will need to get out of the desert.

It is a little surprising that Ra’s has done nothing but there were few resources between them. Tim glances at Ra’s who smiles.

“How did you sleep, detective?”

Tim doesn’t answer it even though there’s something to the question.

“Enough, Ra’s.”

And he moves on sore legs to stand, to make their way out of all the sand and the wind before a storm hits.

“Of course, Timothy.”

Tim shivers once more. Something is there on the tip of his tongue, but he bites it down and walks.


	4. Heart of Ra's al Ghul

“You’re wrong,” and the words tipped out of Tim’s mouth smoothly, easily. With more conviction than Tim would have given them. Because he had never thought about it.

Damian stared at him, eyebrows raised.

“Tt,” Damian disparaged, going back to his screen. “You clearly have not met my grandfather.”

“But he does,” Tim countered without thinking. “He does have a heart.”

And Tim shifted uncomfortably in his chair, fingers tracing the leather of the arms. Why did he say that?

_“You have a heart,” and Timothy’s hand reached up till it was on Ra’s’ chest, feeling for the thump thump thump beneath the skin on the left breast._

_“I do,” and Ra’s closed his hand on top of Timothy’s. It marked an odd cocoon of warmth because Ra’s’ palm was heated across the back of Timothy’s hand and he had Ra’s’ heart below, hand sandwiched too sweetly between them._

_Ra’s heart beat steadily, a slight flutter that pressed against the grooves and lines of Timothy’s hand with each contraction. He would have that heart know his fate, read them across the skin and muscles._

_Then Ra’s laughed and a ripple of sensation traversed his chest, cutting across the sternum and the pectorals beneath Timothy’s fingers._

_“Did you really think otherwise?” Ra’s asked amused._

_“You could be the Demon of your name,” Timothy answered and he was bending his head, dark hair falling over to hide his eyes. Bent his head further down till he was kissing that spot, kissing right between where those intercostals were for the strongest heartbeat. Because it was the apex of the heart, and Timothy heard it clearly as he pressed his lips down more firmly. Felt the chest rise with lung expansion, felt the heart rise to meet his lips._

_“I am yours regardless.”_

_“Yes, always my Timothy.”_

_And Timothy’s hair was stroked as he lavished attention to the heart of Ra’s al Ghul._

“You are delusional,” Damian snorted. He missed Tim frowning to himself whose fingers were still tracing circles into the leather of the chair’s arms.

“Well, compared to the other villains, you can’t deny Ra’s has purpose and thought in his actions,” Tim started and then he stopped. Because he was trying to defend a man who would have killed him if Dick hadn’t caught him.

“Drake, do listen to yourself natter some of these days,” Damian said taking Tim’s silence as a finished statement. “One would think that you have never fought my grandfather.”

“I—,” Tim’s protest died in his throat. Because now that he was thinking about it…

_“You have a heart as well,” Ra’s said and Timothy was looking up, staring into those eyes._

_“My heart isn’t like yours.”_

_“No,” Ra’s agreed, petting Timothy’s hair. “Yours is fragile and gentle. Too delicate for your love to be given away so easily. Listen.”_

_And he was tapping out the rhythm of Timothy's heart on Timothy's wrist, tapping and marking it out so definitively that Timothy flushed._

_"How sweet is the sound of your heart," Ra's said. "I remember it always."_

_Then Timothy kissed Ra's, kissed him because of the feelings tight in his heart._

_"Ra's..."_

_“And I will protect your heart because you are in the habit of investing your love in the wrong people," Ra's declared._

_“Do I?”_

_“Never with me.”_

“Will you cease your pointless tapping?” Damian asked. Tim looked down. His fingers were now on the desk. He was tapping out his own heartbeat.


	5. Desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Cor.

Tim freezes, and it’s as if there is a tug. A tug, but it wasn’t quite right. Not there, not where Tim stood with Damian in the hall and arguing.

                “Repeat that,” Tim orders and he really isn’t desperate. Because he feels it in his bone, deep in the in between, and his mind is spinning and whirring to play catch up on gears. There’s something strange. Had to be when Tim felt lust, and Damian was a child.

                Damian looks at him, annoyed. And for a second, Tim fears disapproval in the lines of that mouth, and that Damian wouldn’t answer. That Tim would be denied that mouth.

                “Are you deaf, Drake?” Damian scowls. He shifts minutely, and Tim readies himself. Curses himself for the thought and the oddness of it.

                “I said, do you know what you are? You are not worthy of—“

                But Tim can’t hear the rest of Damian’s words. He can’t concentrate on that. Instead, his face grows pale, and Tim concentrates finely on that phrase.

                 _Do you know what you are?_

                And Tim feels the rush of blood to his groin, feels himself warm and knows it’s off. Tim turns, and his mind works even faster, searching.

                He remembers vaguely the touch of skin, sand grains and tapping hearts. He remembers, and—

                “Drake!”

                Tim moves to the side on instinct. Damian is furious now. At the miss or Tim’s ignorance of him, Tim couldn’t tell.

                “I’m not done speaking to you.”

                “Not now,” Tim snaps and hurries down the hall, to reach the cave. Ra’s had piggy-backed onto one of his lines once…

                “Drake!” Damian follows him, and Tim goes into a sprint but he stops so abruptly Damian nearly crashes into him. Because he has to be responsible.

                “Damian,” and Tim’s voice is serious enough that the boy listens and shuts his mouth. “Listen very carefully. I need you to go to your room and lock the door. I think—“

                Tim swallows hard, and he is too aware of the burn scorching through him from memories buried deep.

                “—I may jump you.”

                “What are you talking about?” Damian asks, but he steps back just in case.

                “Your voice,” and Tim struggles to say it. To understand exactly what is going on. “It sounded like Ra’s just then, and I—“

                At that, Damian understands and leaves quickly.

                “I shall call Grayson.”

                Tim needs to go down to the cave. He doesn’t. Instead, he steals himself into one of the many rooms the manor has to offer. It is quiet, unoccupied and Tim sinks to his knees.

                Tim fills out the dialogue in his mind. Fills out the phrase and realizes why Alfred calling him Timothy the other day unnerved him. It wasn’t Ra’s.

                He pops the button on his pants and drags the zipper down because Tim needs, and it was almost like Ivy’s pollen. It wasn’t.

                The first touch was like fire, and Tim squeezes his eyes shut. He feels the dichotomy roaring beneath his skin. He meets Timothy for the first time in conscious, and Tim strokes himself harder. Tim wars for control.

                Timothy only wants to be come, come and save the memory for Ra’s. The elder man would enjoy that—the imagery of Timothy so needy for Ra’s that he couldn’t help himself. That he almost jumped Damian for the likeness.

                Tim sighs and groans, and still he can’t stop touching himself.

                He would figure this out later. The connection between Damian and that phrase and Ra’s al Ghul.

                He gives into Timothy’s desire.


	6. Slip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> : For Cor! Because I said there was more to the Damian and Tim issue. Did I not?
> 
> I’ll be writing another Timothy Verse piece later, again with Damian. There’s more to it in my head.

                Tim doesn't figure it out. He doesn't have the time, now when so many things are happening and coming up. And even though Tim keeps his distance from Damian, fear wrought, he soon forgets. Because there is so much to do.

                "Don't worry," Tim says to Dick. Dick worries, but doesn't pushes. And for all that it is important, for Tim to know what is between Ra's and Damian, why it is wrong for Alfred to call him Timothy--Tim slips. He utterly slips at this so vital of a this. So it is:

                "Timothy," and Tim feels a creak in his bones, feels a slot slid in his joints. It is altogether familiar and not, the same as last time. He feels half caught in change, and he doesn't know why..

                "What did you say?" Tim asks and asks because there is that thrum beneath his skin, waiting and waiting for a release that never comes.

                "Timothy," Damian repeats, paused in his argument with Tim. "Your name?"

                He looks at Tim as if he is stupid, and Tim is stupid. Because he can't see Damian's expression even though the boy stands before him. Tim is lost in that voice, his name. It is so near, so close to be right but entirely wrong. He is stupid for not suspecting Ra's. For not realizing the connection between Alfred, Damian and Ra's.

                "Ra's," Tim gasps out and Damian is bewildered. "My grandfather?"

                "I--"

                Tim wants to sink to his knee, let that thrum disappear but it isn't right. Not with Damian.

                "I need to get out," Tim hears himself say.

                "What? Drake!" Damian calls out to him, but Tim can't stay. Not when he knows the truth.

                Damian touches him on the arm, and Tim jerks. He won't jump Damian. He nearly did last time, not knowing why. But Tim is aware now. He is aware of what he desires, and it is frightening. It's not Damian he wants, it's Ra's. Damian is not Ra's even with his so close of a voice. Tim stumbles for his room, leaves Damian behind.

                "Can't," Tim mumbles and runs. The thrum stays, persistent and strong deep in every crevice of himself.

 

                It would make him careless.


	7. He is Timothy

Tim knows. Tim knows and he wishes he didn’t know. Why he felt so warm and bothered when Ra’s spoke. The gaps in memory—those memories would explain it, but all Tim has are uncertain feelings. Favor for a villain who subdued him. Made him Timothy.

The knowledge made him careless. Made him trapped on a building’s rooftop, back to a block of stone for aesthetics by Ra’s, terrible and awful. He is pinned to the block of stone, arms above his head, and Tim trembles when Ra’s speaks. Purrs.

“You are distracted tonight, Detective.”

And Tim shook further at the lowness of voice. The intimacy of it whispered into his ear. He could feel his body tense, reacting. As if gears would shift and move, ready and waiting to turn. Because Ra’s was speaking. Speaking and it made Tim’s body hum in anticipation. His body knew. Tim didn’t.

“It is disappointing how easily you are caught,” Ra’s disapproves. “But I cannot deny the beauty of your capture.”

Ra’s tilts Tim’s head up with his right hand. Tilts it and bares the slender white column for viewing. With a pass of thumb over the pulse point, Ra’s feels a skipped beat Tim couldn’t hide. Tim’s throat is dry, dry and he is still because his body knew what he wanted. Would betray him before his mouth.

“You certainly look lovely out of costume, Timothy.”

And Tim could barely hold back a groan. Because his name was on Ra’s lips, inviting and wonderful. It was wrong that it sounded so good there. On that lying mouth.

“Timothy,” Ra’s says again. “Do you know what—“

“Don’t,” Tim chokes out. Breathes out and interrupts before Ra’s could finish. Could make him Timothy and entirely Ra’s' without knowing.

Ra’s’ eyes widens momentarily before they turn sharp and predatory. His teeth gleams the same.

“You know?”

“I know,” and Tim’s head was still tilted up. Still at Ra’s' attention, and he couldn’t breathe.

“What will you do? Hm?” Ra’s squeezed his throat, and Tim’s skin sang at the contact. At the nuances in the tone and felt himself wrongly hard as the pressure increased on his lifeline.

“I—I don’t know. En-enjoy it?”

That made Ra’s’ eyes go wide again and relax his grip enough that Tim could gasp and pant for air painfully. And Tim cries out as he is forced onto his toes, Ra’s’ hand yanking Tim’s arms even higher about his head.

“Timothy,” and Ra’s’ lips crushes his and Tim cannot deny how good it feels. To taste his full name on Ra’s lips. Taste the sound and syllable on that tongue, and it curls low into Tim’s stomach. Curls low and warm and Tim cries out again.

Ra’s bites down on Tim’s neck hard enough to break skin. It makes Tim shiver to see his blood on Ra’s' lips.

“You do not object, do you, Timothy?”

Ra’s’ free hand slid boldly down Tim’s side, onto hip and oh—

“Ra’s,” Tim whimpers.

“I admit it is more alluring when you are aware.” Ra’s cups him harder. “Speak to me, Timothy.”

And Tim leaps to obey, leaps to be Timothy.

“Yes,” Tim hisses and groans at the feel of Ra’s’ fingers working his way into pants.

“You are mine, yes?” Ra’s asks as he wraps a firm hand around Tim’s cock, tip wet with pre-come and—

“Yes,” Tim breathes out. Because it was so and he needed more. He arches, trying to thrust against that hand that was so good.

“Say it,” Ra’s says and stops suddenly. Stops the stroking and keeps Tim still against the wall.

“Ra’s.”

And Ra’s smile twists. “Timothy. Timothy.”

Tim’s name rolls smoothly across the man’s tongue, and it makes him harder. Needier.

“Do you know what you are?”

“Yes,” Tim says. “Yours.”

This time Tim feels it. Feels the shift acutely and he isn’t asleep or gone. He is Timothy. Ra’s' Timothy, and he near sobs in relief as Ra’s’ hand start again.


	8. Considering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Crim.

                It is Timothy that considers it. Timothy who brings his fingers up. Brings them up to his wrist, and there he taps it out. Taps out the rhythm of his heart, and remembers whispered conversations, hushed and secret. The memories are melded in his head, jumbled and confused. Unlocked.

Because Tim knows now. Knows exactly has been done.

                “You know?” Ra’s had asked, and his smile were twists and dark.

                “I know,” Tim had replied, and they were all skin and tactile impressions. Pressed together and blood scent and bites.

                That was a few hours ago. And Tim sits. Sits on his bed, and considers what it means to sit there. Considers the tentative line of his own and that created.

                Because what he knows is dreadful.

                Ra’s bribed Tam. Bribed her, tricked her, and she brought the cup Tim sorely needed at four in the morning. She wasn’t scared, Tim thinks, believes—she was played. Played brilliantly and thoroughly that she didn’t know.

                And Tim drank that coffee, gulped it down that almost sunless dawn and never knew that he ingested nanotech.

Nanotech of the finest kind was in his blood, in his brain. Testing and jolting every nerve ending that would connect. Sparked and fired neurotransmitters in synapses. All triggered by command and voice recognition.

 Made Tim Timothy and  _that_  is what Tim doesn’t know.

                He doesn’t know what is his own and what isn’t.

                He only knows that he is Ra’s.

                And it isn’t Timothy but Tim that considers it. Considers the removal of the tech and seeing what it is truly. And it is Tim that decides not to when Ra’s stirs on the bed besides him.

                “Timothy.” Ra’s voice glides through the air. “You are awake.”

                “I am,” Tim answers, but his body is humming again. It is on the tip of his tongue, and Ra’s is aware.

                “Do you,” and it is formal and cool and everything that Tim needs, “know what you are?”

                “Yes,” Timothy responds because Tim—Tim isn’t needed. Tim would break the safety. “Yours.”


	9. Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is Timothy, and that’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure I should write an epilogue for this and kind of really complete it. Although, now that I’m looking back at it – this is really a short verse, considering that it’s only about 4K or so words total. 
> 
> Maybe I’ll go back and fix it longer or something, but I make no promises. I will say that I really had a delight writing this, and it’s probably one of the rare fics I have that is pretty much all entirely in present tense as I prefer writing in past tense. It was also fun for me because of the mood and tone of the fic. Just writing style in general—I think this probably one of my more descriptive/romantic pieces. The only fic that make come similar to this one in that way is Metamorphosis I think.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy and thank you for all of you that followed this. :)

              Tim presses a hand to the glass, palm flat against it. He is Tim, but he is also Timothy. He was very much Timothy in all the ways he could ever be. He feels it in his walk, in his every move. He feels it in his voice, and he feels it keenly whenever Ra’s nears or calls. He is _aware_.

                It makes him shudder, and Tim turns away from his reflection. He can still see himself in his head however, that person who Ra’s loves. Tim knows the tech still swims in his blood, sets him up neatly for Ra’s and whatever the man desires. Yet…Tim cannot deny that he accepts it. Considers it with Timothy’s eyes instead of his own. Instead of that Tim who belongs to the bats and to all whoever fought against Ra’s.

                His fingers tap against his heart restlessly, drumming out the quickness of the beat. Because Tim knows when he goes out, leaves the restroom, Ra’s will be there. Waiting. Tim wishes he could have hesitated, but it’s Timothy that drags him forward. To the door and to the foot of his bed.

                “Ra’s,” Timothy says. It’s alluring and hold more promises than Tim knew he could have. Ra’s smiles at him, eyes hungry on his naked skin.

                “Timothy,” he all but says, everything contain within his name. It makes Tim hot, flushed with warm down to his core.

                “Are you well?” Ra’s continues as if he knows that Tim’s struggling to put together one and two; Tim and Timothy; duty and desire.

                “I’m fine,” Tim—not Timothy—replies. Ra’s’ face doesn’t change. Does not betray his thought at Tim’s sudden switch. It makes Tim sad, drowning out the previous warmth.

                “I—“, Tim starts but it’s hard. The words don’t come, and he falters.

                “Do you regret, Timothy?” Ra’s asks softly. Gently. Tender in a way that Tim has only begun to know.

                “No,” Tim says, and he’s startled to find it’s true. That he means it deep and well, that when he gave in on that rooftop he truly knew and really did. That makes him bold. Makes him close his eyes and run his hands over his body.

                Tim puts on a show. Bites his lips as he tweaks his own nipples, traces scars and run sparks up and down his skin. He is Timothy, and Tim doesn’t hold back. Keeps on going. Touches himself till he’s at the edge and stops.

                “Ra’s,” Tim finally speaks and looks Ra’s directly in the eye. His voice is husky, low and full of want. Ra’s’ eyes are blown, attentive to the sight.

                “Timothy,” Ra’s says, delighted and it’s a praise that makes Tim heady. Glad and pleased.

                “I’m yours,” Tim says firmly. It’s final, and even though there will be pain and difficulties Tim will not regret this.

                Ra’s stretches out his arms, beckons for him to lie with him. And the meet of skin burns, makes Tim’s blood sing with need. Ra’s kisses him, good and well.

                Tim knows he is Ra’s’ Timothy. That is enough.

 


End file.
